A Day at the Beach for Aphrodite

I was enraged at being alone on the outside of all that love and lust.

A Kind of Thinking and Other Poems

Life, then, was song and purple font, imagining in words a future.

A Place Like This

I can see on him how things are changing for and against us.

A Sailor

She did not leave him for the sailor. So why should he be angry?

A Summer in Between

In a way she enjoyed the slow, sad feeling of letting it go.

Addendum and Other Poems

The animals are dying. All the beautiful women are dying too.

At Swim, Two Girls

Why do girls want to cheerlead? Don’t they know it objectifies women?


We imagined the train routes through the heart of the country.

Black Sand

All these barns with their busted spidery limbs strewn over the lupine.


He touched her bruise more softly than an elevator button.

Cavagnaro’s Bar & Grill

I rented a house in the woods of East Hampton as a form of therapy.

Choir Practice

Betsy recoiled, understanding instinctively what was to come.


People only see that side of him. He is still a boy, learning to be a man.

Clearing the History and Other Poems

I wanted to forget my parents’ slow dying together in Ohio.


I would chase it to the shores of the lake where the killer waited.

Derby Day

I felt awful about imposing on him, but I was desperate to see the Derby.


The blade was buried to the hilt in the outside corner of his left eye.

Fifteen Ways to Avoid Gardening

Order gardening clogs, then realize you feel like a runaway nurse.

Five Poems

i was a wild thing down by the river, quiet like wild things are.

Five Poems

Elsewhere, perhaps here too, regimes stagger, a congress ends.

Four Poems

Through the dark, we say, through the dark: but do we ever really know?


I’ve got other plans. And they don’t center on ringnecks.

Intimate Tyrannies

Unwall the summer in blue threading, gift of someone who loved me.

La Cachiporrista

I will have to remember the man’s hooded eyes as he watches.

Late Summer

Tonight’s moon has dropped its shawl. I’m in the yard again, waiting.

Lightning Time

It’s wrong to say the lightning is pink is nothing other than to say it’s not.

Little Gifts

His eyes, dark brown and unwavering as he delivered the details.


The everlasting shines through in the threshold between worlds.

Meteor Shower and Other Poems

Before sunrise I counted nine meteors scratching the heavens.

Mrs. Bridge